


heart like a kick drum

by returnsandreturns



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: College, First Dates, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Makeover, Matt has a sex t-shirt, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, bottom Foggy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 08:26:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7969543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns/pseuds/returnsandreturns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You want to get dinner later?” he asks.</p><p>“Sure,” Foggy says. “Want to try that Indian place?”</p><p>“Definitely,” Matt says. “It's a date.”</p><p>He freezes after he says that, and Foggy gapes at him.</p><p>“Okay, bye,” Matt says, quickly, shutting the door behind him when he leaves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	heart like a kick drum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iraya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iraya/gifts).



> I FINISHED A THING! 
> 
> This is for Iraya who is one of the awesome people who won my Tumblr giveaway thing. They asked for mutual pining and bad flirting and bottom Foggy and I was there for all of that.

Foggy wakes up with Matt in his bed on a Sunday morning. Sun shining, birds chirping, and Matt Murdock's face shoved into his hair and dead weight arm pinning him down. He's got the slightest of hangovers, the kind where everything's kind of sore and your brain's all fuzzy around the edges, and he's distantly aware that he's half-hard against the thigh that Matt has slung between his legs, like maybe he tried to climb Foggy sometime during the night.

It's a lot to contend with so early in the morning.

He's working out how to respond to this situation when Matt stirs against him and lifts his head, coughing before he moves the arm that was keeping Foggy down to pull stray hairs from his mouth. Foggy takes the opportunity to watch Matt's face close up as he seems to slowly realize what's happening, patting Foggy's shoulder like he's verifying he's actually there.

“Hey,” Matt says, voice rumbly and deep.

“Hi,” Foggy replies.

“I, uh,” Matt says, laughing softly as he pushes himself up, “don't think it was actually cold enough to warrant sharing body heat last night?”

“Yeah,” Foggy says. “It really seemed necessary at the time, though.”

Matt tries to sit up fully and his leg slides up in a very inopportune way, so Foggy startles a little and makes a strangled noise. Matt stops abruptly.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?” he asks.

“Nope, no,” Foggy says. “All good.”

Matt’s face so near his is really a revelation, dark lashes and eyes still heavy with sleep, face looking mildly concerned when he realizes what part of Foggy’s body his knee’s getting friendly with right now.

Matt gets out of bed slowly, cheeks flushed pink. He manages to do it with a lot of dignity despite the fact that he’s still tangled in the button down he tried to get out of last night and his hair is insane, and Foggy resents him for it. There’s no dignity in scaring your best bro away with your dick.

“I, uh,” Matt says. “I have to go to mass.”

Foggy almost tells him that they didn’t do anything he’d need to confess for, that some incidental contact through two layers of clothes doesn’t count as a sinful gay sex act, but then he remembers that Matt goes to church every Sunday.

“Right,” Foggy says, weakly. “Say hi to the Pope for me.”

“I will if I see him,” Matt says, rubbing at his eyes. He’s quiet for a moment, eyes trained somewhere near Foggy before he adds, awkwardly, “Sorry for passing out on you.”

“Hey, we did what we had to in order to survive, buddy,” Foggy says, and Matt laughs, does some kind of weird salute that he seems to immediately regret.

“And sorry for—whatever that was,” Matt says, wincing. “I’m going for a shower.”

“I’m going back to sleep,” Foggy says, stretching out and yawning, “as is my right as a godless heathen.”

Matt nods agreeably, collecting his towel and a change of clothes. He stops with his hand on the door knob, turning back towards Foggy.

“You want to get dinner later?” he asks.

“Sure,” Foggy says. “Want to try that Indian place?”

“Definitely,” Matt says. “It's a date.”

He freezes after he says that, and Foggy gapes at him.

“Okay, bye,” Matt says, quickly, shutting the door behind him when he leaves.

That’s—a common phrase, really, a colloquialism that means absolutely nothing. That’s a thing that people say. It’s a date! But not, like, a _date_.

Foggy tips his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“Is it a date?” he whispers.

*

“Okay, but _is it_?” Foggy asks, gesturing a little too emphatically with his spoon.

One of the things other than casual sex that continued after his breakup with Marci is post-hangover Sunday brunch, which, since they probably spent too much on drinks the night before, mostly consists of eating cereal in Marci’s bed.

“Far be it from me to interpret Murdock’s feelings for you,” Marci says. She’s wearing leggings and one of his t-shirts that she refuses to give back to him, hair pulled up in a messy bun. “But do you want it to be a date?”

“I don’t want you to be jealous,” Foggy says.

Marci laughs, shaking her head.

“I think I’ll survive,” she says, dryly. “I was never under the impression that you _weren’t_ at least a little in love with your roommate.”

“I was a little in love with you, too,” Foggy says, smiling sadly at her. “I’ve got a lot of love to give.”

“I know you do,” Marci says, rolling her eyes.

They eat without talking, just the scrape of spoons on plastic bowls, the sound of chewing. Foggy drinks the last of his milk before he says, more broken than he intends, “What if it’s not a date?”

Marci sighs and sits her bowl of cereal down on her nightstand before she collapses against Foggy, wrapping her arms around him. They don’t do this very often; Marci’s not of a particularly cuddly persuasion. Foggy made a lot of late night treks back to his own room in their time together.

“Well, what if it is?” she asks, slowly, like it physically pains her to be so supportive.

Foggy hugs her back.

*

Matt skips mass.

He doesn’t intend to. He puts on a suit and everything, getting dressed in the bathroom to avoid having to go back to the room after spending twenty minutes in the shower repeating, “It’s a _date_?” to himself in a hushed horrified whisper.

Foggy’s heart had sped up like he was _scared_ and Matt had felt sick instantly, basically fleeing just to get away from the sound even though it follows him to the communal bathroom down the hall, echoing. 

So, Matt skips mass and walks straight to Fogwell’s instead. It doesn’t open on Sundays so he’s alone to take off his jacket and only decent dress shirt and attempt to punch out his emotions.

It doesn’t work.

To be fair, it _never_ works, but sometimes it gets him close enough that he can pretend. He hits the bag until he’s winded and then he sits on the floor, dropping his face into his hands.

“I _want_ it to be a date,” he says, despairingly, to nobody. It feels important, his voice a little too loud and reverberating off the walls something that he’s never said out loud before and rarely let himself think.

It’s one thing to be in love with your roommate—it’s something else entirely to _do something_ about it. Matt takes a deep breath, sitting up straight and thinking about Foggy’s body underneath his. He steels himself.

He’s going to do something about it.

*

“Nothing in here would make an acceptable date outfit, Nelson,” Marci says, rifling through Foggy’s dresser with unbridled distaste. “How drunk was I when I asked you out?”

“You were stone cold sober and you know it,” Foggy says, pacing anxiously. “Should I wear a suit? I have a suit.”

“I think maybe we should embrace the fact that Murdock’s blind and just make you smell really good,” Marci says, grabbing a pair of khakis and a wrinkled shirt. “Do you own an iron?”

Foggy makes a sad face at her.

“You’re such a _boy_ ,” she says. “We’ll go back to my dorm, you can shower there.”

She pulls out a few more options and shoves them into Foggy’s arms before hurrying him out the door and towards the elevator. They walk in at the exact same time as Matt’s walking out, so Matt and Foggy collide and Foggy audibly squeaks.

“Oh, sorry,” Matt says, steadying himself with a hand on Foggy’s shoulder before immediately blushing and backing away.

“No, I’m sorry,” Foggy says.

“Uh,” Matt says, waving his cane aimlessly. “See you at dinner?”

“Yeah,” Foggy whispers. “See you.”

“Oh my god,” Marci says, faintly. The doors to the elevator shut, and she turns to stare at Foggy, her eyes full of judgement.

“ _Help_ me,” he says.

“I’m not sure anybody can,” she says. “Can I give you a haircut?”

“You love my hair,” Foggy says, frowning at her.

“Oh, Foggy Bear,” she says, fondly, patting his arm. “I was lying.”

*

Foggy and Marci are just friends.

Matt knows this for a fact. He took Foggy out drinking after they broke up and unwillingly helped Foggy review the contract that Marci drew up when they decided to keep sleeping together. It was thorough and, he would argue, unnecessarily graphic, but it made it very clear: as soon as either of them had feelings that slipped past friendship, it would be over.

This knowledge doesn’t make him feel any better. Marci’s brilliant and beautiful and kind of scary—Matt doesn’t want to compete with her.

He’ll do it.

He just doesn’t want to.

Back in their room, he takes a deep breath before he goes to his closet and pulls out his secret weapon. The fabric’s soft and smooth under his fingers.

Foggy calls it his Matt’s Gonna Get Laid shirt.

So far, it’s lived up to the name.

*

Marci makes him take a shower and use her products so he smells like honey and chamomile and then orders him to sit in her desk chair so she can cut his hair.

“Are you sure we have to do this?” Foggy asks, clutching at his hair. Marci drapes a towel over his shoulders and smiles, sharply.

“No,” she says, “but, trust me, it can’t hurt.”

“Do you even know how to cut hair?” he asks.

“I’ve been cutting my own hair for years,” she says, pushing his hand away. “You think I have the money to look this good? I’m paying the same tuition you are.”

He gazes up at her.

“I trust you,” he says. “Make me beautiful.”

“I’ll do my best,” she says, dryly. “Duck your head.”

When she’s finished, his hair is shorn just above his shoulders. He looks older and—kind of hot, honestly.

“There,” Marci says, sounding proud. “You look great. Plus, you’ll actually be able to get a job so you can support your new boyfriend, so. . .you’re welcome.”

Foggy shakes his head in the mirror before he gives himself one long look.

“Boyfriend,” he says, firmly. “ _Boyfriend_.”

“Go get him, tiger,” Marci says, “and, by that, I mean get dressed and get out of my room. I’m worried your lovesickness might be catching.”

He cleans up his hair and gathers his clothes, kissing her on the cheek before he leaves. He’s dressed in a neatly ironed pair of dark slacks and a nice shirt, and his hair is soft and untangled. There’s not much more he can do now besides. . .well, go on a date with his best friend.

Maybe a date.

 _God_ , he hopes it’s a date.

*

Foggy shows up back at their dorm smelling like Marci. Like— _exactly_ like Marci, like she just rubbed herself all over him or something, and Matt feels awful immediately until he’s distracted by Foggy’s heart beating rapidly.

“Is that. . .” Foggy starts, voice hoarse before he clears it. “Is that your Matt’s Gonna Get Laid shirt?”

“Is it?” Matt asks, feigning surprise, smiling. “I didn’t notice.”

“Oh, it is,” Foggy says. “It’s doing the thing with—your arms—and everything.”

Matt maybe flexes a little bit, just instinctively. The t-shirt’s black and too tight, honestly, but that’s kind of the point. 

“Ready to go?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Foggy says. He’s definitely nervous, twisting his fingers together. “Yes, I’m ready. Oh—hey, not that it really makes a difference to you since you can’t see it, but I cut my hair. Well, Marci cut my hair.”

“Seriously? I thought long hair was the hill you chose to die on,” Matt says, frowning. He liked Foggy’s hair long, liked untangling it with his fingers when Foggy would drunkenly throw himself in Matt’s lap, which was pretty often. “Can I—”

Foggy steps forward obligingly, and Matt’s fingers brush his cheek before they slide through his hair. He makes a curious noise, tracing down from his scalp before he smiles again.

“Feels nice, at least,” he says.

Foggy swallows hard. They’re so close. Matt could just kiss him now and get it over with; he lets his fingers linger on Foggy’s shoulder and sways forward.

“Dinner?” Foggy suggests, stepping away abruptly. Matt steadies himself then nods, taking the arm that Foggy offers.

“Dinner,” he agrees.

*

They sit in horrible awkward silence for about ten straight minutes after they order. Matt’s wearing the t-shirt that drives girls wild and keeps opening and closing his mouth like he’s trying to say something but can’t quite get it out. Foggy’s considering knocking the candle on the table over to start a fire and stage an escape when, suddenly, Matt’s foot brushes against his.

Foggy pauses from where he was messing with his spoon, spinning it on the table, and looks up.

Matt’s face is innocent. Maybe it was an accident.

Foggy’s trying to form a complete sentence when Matt’s foot brushes his again, and Foggy says slowly, “Are you—are you trying to play footsie with me?”

Matt says, “Uhm,” eloquently.

“This _is_ a date,” Foggy says, laughing. “Murdock.”

“Do you want it to be?” Matt asks.

Foggy kicks him under the table.

“Yes, you _asshole_ ,” he says.

“You didn’t sleep with Marci today, right?” Matt asks.

“God, no,” Foggy says. “We ate cereal and she tried to give me a makeover so you’d fall in love with me. I mean—shit, that’s too fast—want to date me or whatever.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” Matt says, fingers twisting in the tablecloth, head tilted. “I already fell for you.”

Foggy reaches out to catch his hand, lacing their fingers together.

“ _Dude_ ,” he says, overwhelmed.

“Can we start over?” Matt asks, with a dumb perfect grin. “I want to do it right. I’m normally way better at this.”

“I know you are, I’ve seen your moves,” Foggy says. “Go for it.”  

“You want to go on a date with me?” Matt asks, running his thumb up and down Foggy’s hand. Foggy tightens his fingers, laughs softly.

“Yeah, Matt,” he says. “I do.”

*

It gets easier from there. Their food comes, and they figure out how to talk like they normally do, just with the added bonus of Foggy’s foot against his ankle under the table and the promise that he’s going to kiss Matt later.

He says this, explicitly, low and fond, “I’m gonna kiss you later, Matty.”

“I look forward to it,” Matt says.

They split the check and Matt leans into Foggy as they walk back, their arms looped together while Foggy narrates their surroundings until Matt’s laughing against his shoulder. They didn’t have a single drink, but Matt still feels kind of drunk, just on this.

At their door, Foggy says, “Well, I guess this is it.”

“Yeah,” Matt says, stepping forward into Foggy’s space. “Good first date?”

 “Can’t wait for the second,” Foggy says, curling fingers around the back of Matt’s neck. “Like, literally—come here.”

Matt leans into the kiss, soft and cautious at first until Matt backs him up against the door and gets a hand in his hair. They make out in the hallway until Foggy turns his head to catch his breath and say, “How about we take this inside?”

*

Matt presses himself up against Foggy’s back and kisses his neck while he fumbles for his key, which is counterproductive—honestly, it takes him forever to get the door open—but Foggy’s not about to ask him to stop.

As soon as the door’s shut behind them, he turns around to pull Matt into his arms.

Matt’s fingers slide down his back and under his waistband smoothly and Foggy laughs.

“You think I’m the type to put out on the first date, Murdock?” he asks.

Matt looks surprised, says, “Oh—no, I didn’t mean—”

Foggy covers Matt’s mouth with his hand, effectively shutting him up.

“Because you’re totally right, you know me really well,” he says, and Matt laughs, bites gently at Foggy’s palm so he moves it away, before he cups Foggy’s face in both hands to kiss him intently.  They almost knock over Foggy’s desk chair on their way to Foggy’s bed, stumbling together and laughing between kisses until Foggy’s flat on his back with one of his textbooks digging into his spine and Matt on top of him.

Foggy squirms underneath him to pick it up, saying, “As hot as it would be for you to fuck me on top of an economics book. . .” before he tosses it to the floor.

“Is that happening?” Matt asks, sounding hesitant but—hopeful, maybe.

“Is what happening?” Foggy asks, because he wants to hear Matt say it, and Matt knows it. He smiles slow and dark then leans down to kiss Foggy.

“Me fucking you,” he murmurs, against Foggy’s mouth, and Foggy reaches up to slide his fingers into Matt’s hair.

“God, I hope so,” he says.

Matt beams down at him.

“Take your clothes off,” he says, pressing a firm kiss to Foggy’s mouth before he climbs off of him to rifle through his nightstand.

“What, you’re not going to tenderly undress me?” Foggy asks, immediately pulling his shirt off. Matt stops to turn towards him, concerned.

“Do you want me to?” he asks.

“No,” Foggy says, laughing. “I mean, I’m not against it, but it’s too late, I’m taking my pants off right now.”

He stands up to do just that, stripping down to nothing before he climbs back onto the bed to watch as Matt gets undressed, quickly until he realizes that Foggy’s watching him. He slows down and shows off—this is the first time that Foggy can fully and truly appreciate Matt’s body without it making him feel like a gross invasive creep, so he appreciates the show. He expresses this to Matt by reaching out to grab his wrist and drag him back to the bed as soon as he’s naked.

Matt’s hands on his body and the corresponding heated look on his face immediately makes the self-conscious nagging feeling in the back of Foggy’s head get quiet, and he says, softly, “I’ve wanted this for a really long time, Matt.”

Matt’s fingers trace down his sides and stop at Foggy’s hips, tightening gently.

“I’ve wanted you since freshman year,” Matt says. “I just didn’t know how—how to _get_ you.”

“You just had to ask, man,” Foggy says.

Matt’s smile is soft.

“Can I have you?” he asks.

“All yours,” Foggy replies, maybe too earnestly, but—it’s _Matt_. He lets Matt lay him back down, sprawled out and aching while he watches Matt drip lube onto his fingers and rub them together. Foggy gasps and arches his hips up when Matt’s fingers wrap around his dick, stroking it slowly, thumb rubbing over the head each time.

“God, Foggy,” Matt murmurs, his other hand smoothing up Foggy’s stomach to rest on his chest, fingers sprawled over his heart. Foggy covers Matt’s hand with his own for a moment before he reaches up to thread fingers through Matt’s hair and pull him down into another kiss, moaning into his mouth when Matt’s fingers slip down to rub against his hole.

Foggy says, “Yeah, yeah, Matty,” and tips his head back when Matt trails his lips down his neck, kissing down to his chest to get a better angle as he works a finger inside of Foggy.

Matt nuzzles against Foggy’s stomach and says soft, pretty things as he opens Foggy up with three fingers and more lube, stroking inside of him until Foggy’s shaking and tugging gently at Matt’s hair.

“You’re so impatient,” Matt says, looking up and smiling.

“Yep, been waiting _years_ ,” Foggy says, sitting up and pulling Matt with him. “Condom?”

Matt feels it out on the bed and hands it to him, sitting up on his knees so Foggy can roll the condom on for him while kissing him gently, their noses brushing. Matt’s dick is thick and heavy in his hand, and Foggy strokes him a few times just to hear Matt groan in his ear.

“Hey, we didn’t even have to get drunk to fall in bed together this time,” Foggy says, sitting back to look at Matt, who looks flushed and happy.

“I wasn’t that drunk,” he says, shrugging a little.

“Yeah,” Foggy says, reaching up to brush Matt’s hair away from his face. “Me, either.”

Matt surges forward to kiss him, says, soft and frantic, “God, I want you. Get on your knees for me, okay?”

“Okay,” Foggy echoes, warmly, laughing, but he turns over and sprawls out with his legs open and his hips up. Matt wraps his fingers around them, pulling Foggy back towards him to spread him open and push inside of him slowly.

It’s a stretch that Foggy has to breathe through, focusing on Matt’s encouraging voice as he murmurs, “You feel amazing, Fog, you’re so tight.”

Matt pushes forward until he’s seated inside him and waits until Foggy squirms backwards and says, “Okay, wow, _wow_ , Matt, _move_ ,” before he starts to fuck him.

He rocks into Foggy, steadily faster, until he hits an angle that has Foggy gasping his name and stays there until Foggy thinks he might actually die. Worth it. Matt reaches underneath him to slide slick fingers around Foggy’s dick and jerk him off, a little bit off-rhythm because Matt can’t be perfect at everything and that’s fine, that’s enough—Foggy comes with Matt’s name on his lips and his eyes rolling back in his head.

“Don’t let me wait four years to fuck you next time,” Matt says, draping himself over Foggy’s back so Foggy collapses underneath him, vaguely pushing back as Matt rolls his hips against him until he comes with a low groan.  

“Absolutely not,” Foggy mumbles, into the pillow. “We’re doing this again _tonight_.”

Matt laughs against his neck.

“Tonight?” he asks, pulling out carefully. Foggy doesn’t bother to move, listening while Matt gets rid of the condom and smiling when he moves to lay next to Foggy and sling a leg over his.

“And the next night,” Foggy says, turning to press a kiss to Matt’s hair.

“And all the other nights,” Matt says, soft, like a promise.

*

Foggy wakes up with Matt Murdock in his bed on a Monday morning.

Matt crawls on top of him and smiles lazily, straddling Foggy’s hips.

“We’re skipping class today, right?” he asks.

Foggy smiles back and leans up to kiss him.

“I guess we are,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> always [on tumblr](returnsandreturns.tumblr.com), feeling things


End file.
